Mar 7 – Name

Write a poem or short story using your name in some way or form.

The house seemed as if chaos had finally and completely descended upon it. Everyone was aflutter trying to get all the last little things together before they headed to the airport. For the last few months, the entire family had been preparing to move halfway around the world for about a year and things seemed to get crazier and crazier as the day of their departure approached. Suitcases were getting loaded into the car, the house was being looked over for one last time and then one more time. Mom was making sure she had all the school stuff together. The boys were making sure they had their laptops and guitars. And then there was me and I was sitting quietly in my room with my giant teddy bear in my arms while I cried silent tears at the thought of saying goodbye to this place for a whole year. I was nine years old and confused and angry that we had to leave. I was also angry that everyone seemed so excited about this move while I was just sad. Weren’t they going to miss home too? I was stewing in my childish bitterness as I heard mom and dad ushering everyone outside. They had all the boys and all their things and now all they needed was me.

“Bobby! No. JT! No. Mike! No!” I heard my mom shout through every name as her mind drew a blank when it came to the one belonging to her only daughter.

With heavy footsteps I trudged to the front door. “My name is Brittney and I don’t want to go.” I said with as much spite I could muster. But as I happened to be a rather good-natured nine-year old, there wasn’t much I could do in the area of sounding hateful or angry.

“I know hunny, I’m sorry.” My mom looked at me as she spoke with a gentleness that only mothers have and I my heart gave a little patter. My eyes that were welling up finally broke their floodgates and I ran into my mother’s arms. She held me and we cried together as she walked with me through every room of our house and said goodbye. Finally we reached the front door and she put the key in my hand and said, “If you really don’t think we should go, we’ll unpack right now and never get on that plane. But, if you think we should go, even if you’re a little bit scared, you can lock the door up and we’ll go on to the airport.”

With puffy eyes I stared at the key in my hand for what seemed like ages. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath just as this voice in my head that seemed to come from my heart whispered GO, Brittney. I opened my eyes and fitted the key in the door and closed up our home. My mom took my hand in hers as we walked back to the car and I heard her soft voice say, “That’s my daughter. My brave, beautiful Brittney.”

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